


there’s one i always miss

by beastlyboop



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, ford cant get to sleep and reader helps, request, sleepless in gravity falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 21:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastlyboop/pseuds/beastlyboop
Summary: On the nights that you can’t sleep, you often shuffle around your own house in the dark, moving through the familiar halls with little trouble, trying to tire yourself out. When you stay at the Shack you use your alone time to explore it, often taking the time to wander through the exhibits by yourself.Tonight, the story is very much the same. Maybe it’s the house creaking, or the sound of the forest outside, or perhaps it’s Stan’s snoring – whatever it is, you just can’t seem to get to sleep. By now you’ve passed through the hall outside of Stanford’s room several times, each time peeking inside out of curiosity. Whenever you do he seems to be in a different position, on his back, his side, his head under the pillow, his blanket kicked aside or crumpled on the floor. Once you can see him turn, restless, onto his back, and can hear him sigh from across the room.





	there’s one i always miss

**Author's Note:**

> request was for something fluffy where the reader helps ford get to sleep
> 
> [on tumblr](https://beastlybutts.tumblr.com/post/129195208000/theres-one-i-always-miss-stanford-pines-x)

On the nights that you can’t sleep, you often shuffle around your own house in the dark, moving through the familiar halls with little trouble, trying to tire yourself out. When you stay at the Shack you use your alone time to explore it, often taking the time to wander through the exhibits by yourself.

Tonight, the story is very much the same. Maybe it’s the house creaking, or the sound of the forest outside, or perhaps it’s Stan’s snoring – whatever it is, you just can’t seem to get to sleep. By now you’ve passed through the hall outside of Stanford’s room several times, each time peeking inside out of curiosity. Whenever you do he seems to be in a different position, on his back, his side, his head under the pillow, his blanket kicked aside or crumpled on the floor. Once you can see him turn, restless, onto his back, and can hear him sigh from across the room.

When you come back around once more you see him sitting on the edge of the couch, his head down, cheek resting on his hand, his glassy eyes staring across the room with his blanket drooped across his shoulders.

“Can’t get to sleep?”

His head jerks up at your voice but he seems to relax when he sees it’s you, and for a moment you wonder who he might have thought you were.

“Most people wear pajamas,” you say, and he looks down at himself, at his jacket, his shoes, and sighs.

“I’m used to it, I suppose. There wasn’t always enough time between sleep and running away from something trying to kill me to get dressed.”

“Don’t you think you can relax now?”

Silent, he stares at you for a moment before checking his watch. He then unties his shoes and pulls them off, setting them beside the couch. When he stands you step into the room and move over to him, stand in front of him, and help him out of his jacket, which you both let fall to the floor. He unhooks the black belt of the holster across his chest and then pulls off his sweater, leaving him in the plain white wifebeater beneath. In the dim light of the room, you can see the scars running over his arms and shoulders, and what appear to be several tattoos.

You lead him over to the couch and when you take a seat he leans against you, resting his head on your shoulder. You slip an arm around him, resting your cheek against the top of his head. The both of you sit like that for a while, in silence, listening to the sound of your own breathing and the wind rattling the windows.

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he answers, quickly.

“Do you want to lay down?”

“Yes.”

He lays down on his back, head resting on your lap, and you smile down at him, however awkwardly. You take off his glasses and set them down on the couch beside you, running a hand back through his hair to move it out of his face.

“You don’t know any good bedtime stories do you?”

“Once upon a time…” you start, and you both laugh. With his eyes closed, his face is rid of any of the anxiety so present in his day-to-day. You can hear his breath slow, his chest rising and falling steadily under your hand. Your own head rests back against the back of the couch, eyes staring off into the room, and you can feel Ford’s hand grab your own, resting on his chest, your fingers slipping between his easily.

“Ford?”

“Mm?”

“What was it like?”

He’s silent for a while, and you wonder if he’s fallen asleep.

“It was…lonely. It was terribly lonely.” He whispers, squeezing your hand, and when you look down you can see him staring up at you.

“Are you okay?”

“I am now,” he smiles, and you laugh as he lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. Being corny seems to run in the family.

For several minutes after that you both just sit in silence, until you hear his quiet snoring below you. By that time you can feel yourself already starting to fall asleep, and you grab the pillow and stuff it back behind your head, managing to draw the blanket over the both of you as best you can.

It’s not a very comfortable place to sleep but you manage, waking up just as the sun starts to come in through the windows. Even with your own stiff back you’re glad to see Ford still sound asleep where you left him, and after a while you carefully slip out from beneath him and slide the pillow back beneath his head. You kiss his cheek before slipping away – not that you would mind staying until he woke up, but you’ve had to pee for the last six hours.


End file.
